


The Empress Is Dead, Long Live the Empress

by ComplimentaryCuller



Series: After it ended verse [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 09:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplimentaryCuller/pseuds/ComplimentaryCuller
Summary: You are tired and overworked from managing a rebellion, having been spit out of the game after Y------EARS in the dream bubbles, forced into a body older than it should have been, and filled with determination to end the head Beach's reign once and for all. Most of all, you are ANGRY.





	The Empress Is Dead, Long Live the Empress

You stride onto the garish red battleship, post-molt and glorious, frothing with rage, flanked by Karkat and Tavros, Karkat’s eyes and vestigial (but very large, larger than yours even) fins blazing their ~~horrifying~~ (no _stop that_ it's _fine_ stop being casteist glub damnit) mutant color and Tavros with horns even bigger than his ancestor’s, an enormous show of force to the cringing high bloods manning the ship. Your hair is snarled from nights planning your attack, managing a rebellion, and training, and is devoid of traditional finery. You wear a common training uniform for a low blood soldier, accents everywhere on the hemospectrum from low supplies, unable to coordinate. Stopping in front of the solid gold doors to ) (er gaudy throne room, you turn to your friends and the cold bloods who followed. “You two, stop the rabble from coming in. Anyone who moves to go in or even speaks to you can be culled at your leisure."

They nod, grimly determined, and you turn to the courtiers and snarl. Your hair fans around you as you twirl on your heel, psionics (thanks for the training, Sollux!) humming audibly. You melt straight through the (huh, not pure gold, steel and psionic suppressants too, holy ship how’d you do that) doors, and continue blasting as you move forward, trident in hand.

It’s deflected to the side by a lazy hand, and you see tyrian.

The outrageous grub-fucking W)(ORE is in a wetsuit that looks painted on, and dripping in finery, tendrils snaking out behind )(er.

You kneel down, stunning those behind you and making )(er grin, but lightning fast you punch the floor (many thanks for the training, Equius), sending a shockwave towards a perfectly placed column, trapping )(er horrorterror mane under Her pure marble from a subjugated species. On your feet, you WRENCH )(er to the side with your powers, into a wall.

S)(e is old and weakened, powers left to rust (heh) and is unused to a trained heiress, most unknowing of their powers, but Oh, _Not You_ , your time in the dream bubbles served you well after all. On )(er feet, S)(e rushes you, taller from centuries spent as a conqueror and a murderess, trident aimed for a culling blow, but you punch )(er in the thorax and bite )(er throat (thank you ever so much, Kanaya darlfin) and S)(e chokes, pink blood splattering your face.

You crush )(er mind, (that Vriska was ever so helpful, even if she wasn’t yours) shattering it into dust, and S)(e kneels, eyes glassy, unresisting even as you shove your trident straight through armor-carapace-bones-carapace and then armor again, breaking through )(er shitty floor and sticking there, upright even when you drop your steel (pail tradition) tri- no, FORK, this isn’t for culling, this is for ending, you stuck a FORK in )(er and every-GLUBBIN-thing S)(e stood for, you did- and turn to the quivering cold bloods, sharp-needle fangs bared and stained tyrian, sclera as red as Karkat’s blood, and they all drop to their knees, eyes looking up in terror from their prostrate positions, even those taller than you while on their knees.

Tavros and Karkat stand there, unafraid. They’ve culled sea-dwellers in worse- well no, but similar- moods, and more at a time, and they KNOW you, know you're ready to cry from having to cull someone, even )(er, you never took to battle, know you miss your mother, as difficult as she was, how she hurt you and Eridan and so many others, dead now by no doubt, poor guppies, and Karkat’s voice, expected as it was, still rings out through the silent (like the deeps, as a grave, like those FUCKING lusii) hall.

“Feferi,” he says, courtiers gasping from the use of your ‘wriggler’ name, a mutant using it as if you were equals, but you ARE, DAMN IT, BY GLUBBING SHELL, YOU ARE. “Calm down. You did it. Everyone’s proud of you.”

You slump, shaking, and then you’re back in ordering mode, and snap your fingers, grabbing the attention of the cringing masses. “Those who were in advising or management positions, come. I want the entire fleet back here as soon as glubbin possible, I don’t give a shit if they’re in a war, and they BETTA treat their helms’ people well or their getting culled by me PERCH-ONALLY, I want them as healthy as any o’ the spoiled high bloods or there’ll be a nice new mural in that gaudy ass hall, ya hear? You,” you snap at a troll in law uniform, a military violet running off like his arse is on fire. “I want every single law referring to the OLD regime’s hemospectrum in a stack on my desk by the end o’ tonight, and YOU,” you say, wheeling around to her blue-blooded assistant, emphasis on the ass, “I want to have a record of all forbidden knowledge, to ANY caste, in a stack next to it!” Huffing, you look to Karkat, and you quirk an eyebrow in a silent question.

He pulls out The List, as your friends named it, and he and Tavros look it over. “You wanted to stop all culling, even of grubs, stop the trials in the caverns, and inform the Fleet that a culling is officially to be met with a culling of the perpetrator, regardless of caste. Also, all slaves and prisoners are to be treated as “dangerous”, detailing a lack of touching, teal quarters, and rations two grades above starvation, and not to be put in the same place as another. Everything else we agreed could be left until the morrow-night.”

Some of the courtiers are openly gaping.

You raise an eyebrow. “Problem, guppies?”

A nervous looking purple (violet?? You can’t see if there’s fins under all that hair) steps forward. “Your Imperious Condescension, are we to obey the ……. mutants? Are they not worthy of culling, perhaps personal slaves?”

Your sclera goes orange as your eyes narrow, and neither Karkat nor Tavros stop you, snickering behind their palms. Striding forward quickly, you reach up for their collar, and pull the gangly but muscled fuck to your level, horns almost knocking against each other as they frantically avoid them so as to avoid a duel, baring their throat. You pull them down even more, twisting your hand to choke them with their finery.

“I shoal-d cull you _rayht_ _now_ for disrespect-fin mah FRONDS, not _SLAVES,_ FRONDS, like that, you princely, purple, poncey _ARS--EHOLE!_  Did you not just H--EAR me SEAY that CULLING IS NO LONGER ALLOW--ED?! OBVIOUSLY, B--ECAUSE YOU WHAL--EDN’T DAR--E TO NOT LISTFIN TO YOAR ——————EMPR———————ESS, _whale-d you now?”_

Their eyes are wide as they attempt to backpedal. “N-no, of course not Your Imperiousness, I was simply wondering, I would never-!”

You smile viciously. “Why, of course naught, guppy! What a silly misunderstanding!” You pat their cheek before turning back to the rest of the courtiers, who retreated to a safe distance sometime while you were yelling. They flee to the back of the congregation, visibly shaking.

Karkat curses loudly. “Gogdamn it Feferi, I was betting on you culling someone by now, you just lost me 5 caegers!”

Tavros only grins and tucks them into a pocket.

The courtiers look like dying fish.

You tell them so, watching as they choke on air. Suddenly, you slap your forehead.

“Oh my _glub,_ I totally forgot! Karcrab, it’s your wriggling day, we N—E—E—D to throw you a party! We don’t have enough cherries at the base!”

Karkat is executing a flawless but highly dangerous and unadvisable face palm x3 combo, trapping Tavros’ hand, him having tried to muffle his inevitable outburst, underneath his own two horizontally.

Tavros just gestures with his free hand to the whispering royals, and you face near splits in half. “Oh Karcrab, we’re going to gave the glubbin B——————————EST GLUBBIN' PARTY — EV————————ER!”

He gives a little sob as a hesitant bronze blood comes forward. “Are we to have a cherry themed wriggling party for Sir Karcrab, Your Imperious Condescension?”

You nod enthusiastically as Karkat moans out as if in pain.

“Why me?” he questions the room.

“Oh, cheer up! After the ball-” he whines like a kicked bark beast- “we can go grab your buoyfrond from earth! How’s that sound? I bet Dive misses you too, so we'll get there extra fast!”

He scowls, blushing a bit, but pulls himself together. “First off, fishface-" the courtiers choke "- it's _Dave,_ so jot that down, and _secondly_ , I’m done. with this, with you, with _those_ -" he gestures expansively at the courtiers, derision on his face "- I’m going to have someone show me the fanciest guest block they can find, pour myself into the sopor, and pass out until you try to torture me to death with this horrific party. And don’t tell people my name is Karcrab, for fuck's sake! If I see it on a banner, I am going to _set this ship on fire with myself in it._ Until then, you implacable assholes.” He walks out the door, and a servant scurries out to direct him.

Tavros is shaking with repressed laughter.

You think you see a royal faint.

“I hope you all can come to the party!” you bubble, and yeah, that one definitely fainted. This was going to be GREAT.


End file.
